Slow Like Honey
by yalegirl413
Summary: He's sad a lot but he doesn't know why. And he might have a slight crush – okay, obsession – on his best friend's sister. She doesn't know a lot, but she does know that she needs him. She just wishes he would give her a chance. AU after Chamber of Secrets
1. Chapter 1

She always wears these headbands. Every day. In these bright colors that always clash violently with her orange-red hair. They're not in style – at least I don't think so, I mean I've never seen any other witch wear them, and I'm actually pretty sure I heard Cho Chang making fun of her for them – but every time I'm fantasizing and I imagine her on her knees in front of me, I see those threadbare headbands – pink, blue, green, neon yellow, sometimes rainbow – and I come so hard I almost black out for a moment. Those headbands are sexy and they're her and every time she walks past me – ignoring me completely, as she's wont to do these days – I'm immediately sporting a hard on that's probably embarrassingly noticeable, because I'm ridiculously turned on by those headbands – maroon, orange, fuchsia, sometimes mint green – that she's brave enough to wear even though one of the fittest witches in school makes fun of her because of it. I think she's pretty wicked. When she's not pretending I'm invisible.

Well, I think she's wicked even when she's pretending I'm invisible.

Sometimes I think of getting up the courage to talk to her – I'm the fucking Boy-Who-Lived, I mean I should be able to at least chat with the girl I'm obsessed with – but then I think of the way she goes right past me in the corridors between classes without looking at me and then I wonder if maybe she would do that even if I try to speak with her. That's not something I think I could survive. So I keep my mouth shut and I pretend like it doesn't make me feel like a repulsive ogre when she talks to her brother – who I'm rarely not around – like I'm not even there. I think it would make me feel less like a complete git if she appeared to feel anything other than indifference toward me. I can't stop thinking about her and she doesn't even know I'm there. Which is pretty messed up, I think, because, well, I hate to play the I-saved-you-from-a-murderous-piece-of-Tom-Riddle's-soul card, but I saved her from a murderous piece of Tom Riddle's soul. The least I could get is a "Hello, how are you?" every once in a while.

I told Hermione that she didn't know I was alive. She looked at me like I was insane. Or stupid. But she usually looks at me like I'm stupid, so that wasn't really a big surprise. And then, when I was extremely pissed after the first Quidditch match of the term against the Slytherins – they slaughtered us and I don't think I've ever been so depressed about a match – I vaguely recall confessing to Ron that I thought his sister was just swell – I actually said 'swell,' but I have no idea why – and that she had the best pair of tits I'd ever seen. He punched me in the nose but didn't remember any of it the next day. I talk to Bear about it a lot, but, even though he's an oddly intelligent dog, he can't exactly give me any advice. At least, none that I can understand.

There's going to be a party tonight at Gryffindor Tower and everyone is invited. Even the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. I don't want to get pissed, but I might. If she's there, I definitely will. Just so I can have the strength to be around her without professing my undying love for her or some shit. I'll probably get high. I don't know if she knows that I get high. If she did know, would she mind, I wonder? I do know that she doesn't do that sort of thing. Maybe that's why she doesn't like me. Hermione doesn't like it when I get high, but she doesn't like it when I get drunk either. She's not a lot of fun when it comes to parties, but I still love her. Ron doesn't get high anymore. Not after the first time, when we were fifth years. We got very stoned on some very cheap and very questionable stuff and Dean and Seamus – and maybe I did, too, it's all a little bit blurry – laughed hysterically at Ron when he began to hallucinate spiders crawling all over him. Neville gets high with me a lot. Even when we're not at a party and it's just a normal day but we can't stand the thought of going to Transfiguration without a little bit of incentive. Sometimes I think Neville and I are kindred spirits. Maybe it's because both of our parents are gone. His are technically still around, but not really. Mine are just plain dead.

I wonder if she'll wear the rainbow headband tonight.

* * *

Merlin, there he is. Leaning against one of the pillars near the courtyard where the rest of the fifth year Gryffindor boys hang around. He's always around Hermione and Ron or Neville or Parvati or bloody Cho Chang and I just can't fathom going up and talking to him. What would I say anyway? I wouldn't be able to say anything, that's what. When I'm near him or even thinking about him I suddenly begin to stammer like a five year old in need of speech therapy. It's just that he's got this beautiful face and I feel like if a Keats poem was a person, it would be him. And his hair, and his eyes, and the way his oxford pulls across his shoulders because sometimes he doesn't wear his Gryffindor robes and, well, he's just extremely attractive. Fit. Gorgeous. I don't know, he's, what do you call it, dashing or something. Puberty, apparently, was a friend to him. He makes me feel so, well, good. One look from him is enough to make me feel better than all of the snogging – and that one instance that I let him cop a feel – that Michael Corner and I got up to last year. I see him staring at me sometimes. I know he likes the way I look, likes to look at my legs and my breasts and my behind. It's not proper at all – as if I cared about being proper – but I admit that he could have me. He could have all of me if he wanted.

He doesn't speak to me. I think maybe when I was younger, and had an infatuation with him that was much more obvious than it is now, I might have scared him away. So I distance myself from him. Hermione says he's shy, but I've seen him with Parvati and Lavender Brown and Cho and Daphne Greengrass and he doesn't seem very shy to me. He probably feels like he can't talk to me. Or maybe it's that he doesn't want to talk to me. Either way, he isn't speaking to me and hasn't done in a year at least.

I wonder if I should try to dress sexy tonight at the party. I have this pink dress and it clashes with my hair in a way that will probably give everyone who looks headaches, but it's cut lower than anything else I own and it's strapless and it would look nice with my rainbow headband. Luna says I should borrow her neon green strappy heels, but I can't walk in those things. But if he might like them, it's worth it. I think.

I wonder if there will be booze at the party. I hope there is. I need liquid courage to wear that dress. And those shoes. And to talk to him. Will there be other stuff there too? I know he's going to smoke. It seems like it's all he ever does now, he's always kind of in a haze. Merlin, what if he asks me to get high with him? I don't think I want to. But if he asks me to, it will be worth it. I think?

I'm going to talk to him tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't know how McGonagall can't hear the music in the common room right now, the bass is thumping so loudly, rattling the walls and the tables and the chairs and making me feel like the earth is shaking. What is that called again, I know there's a name for it. The earth shakes and crumbles and tectonic plates are shifting or some pointless shit that I can't remember from Muggle school. I don't know, I can't really remember much of anything right now. God, I'm so high. I regret this, it was such a bad idea. And I'm drunk, my stomach is churning. I think I might be sick, but I'm trying to look like I'm cool, or like I'm not about to jump out of my skin. I ditched Hermione and Ron awhile ago so I could smoke – fuck, I really regret this – and now I'm leaning against Neville who's staring at Lavender dancing with that prick Theodore Nott. She's all over him. Poor Neville. I don't know why, but he's been in love with her since second year. She's fit and everything, yeah, but there's not much else to her. She's mean, too. Bloody fuck, I think the walls might be breathing. I wish they'd stop.

"Nev, dance with me!" Parvati is pulling Neville away before he can even react and I almost fall flat on my face without someone to prop me up. I collapse onto the sofa and try to control my breathing. It takes a few seconds before I realize that I wasn't actually breathing and I gasp. I don't know why I keep forgetting to breathe. I wonder if she's here. Luna's here. She should be here, too.

"Hey." I jump embarrassingly violently and I turn my head.

"Oh." God, she's so beautiful. How did I not notice her sitting there? I shouldn't have gotten so high. I look at her, my hooded eyes trying to focus. She's wearing a little bubblegum dress and she's so sexy and my mind is too fuzzy to cover up the fact that I'm ogling her like a piece of meat. A really fit piece of meat. She's blushing now, this pinkish red color, and avoiding my eyes, and I'm suddenly thinking such filthy thoughts they surprise even me. "Uh." I'm so suave. Fuck, why does my tongue feel like it's been stuffed with cotton?

She laughs. Oh no, she's laughing at me already. Okay, it's more of a snuffle but she's smiling and have her teeth always been that perfect? I can't believe she's talking to me. I can't believe she's looking at me. "You look pretty." She really does, I've never been more, I don't know, earnest about something. Some song by the Fugees begins to play. I feel like the ground is shaking again like a – what the hell is that word, I know there's something – but it's not because of the bass or anything, I'm just pretty fucked up and she's really getting to me. That bubblegum dress I guess. Or maybe it's her blue nails. Sexy sweet and all that.

"Th-thank you. You l-look good, too." Oh. This is so surreal. Her mouth is so pink – she's pink all over, apparently, and doesn't that just incite the loveliest visions – and she's so, well, she's so, I don't really know. I can't believe she's talking to me. I wish I wasn't high. I want to kiss her so badly. I wonder if she's high as well because she's looking at me with wide, doe eyes.

"A-are you okay?" Oh. Oh bloody hell. Our faces are so close they're almost touching and I'm just staring at her. No wonder she's freaked. I wish I had a mint. My breath smells like pot and Beetle Berry Whiskey. She probably doesn't like that. Oh yeah, she asked me something. "Eh? Oh, ah, I'm cool." I really am. Now that she's talking to me. I can't believe she's talking to me. Looking at me. I should have changed out of my oxford.

She does that cute snuffling thing again. "Cool." Her head drops and she she's staring at her lap.

Oh. She's wearing it. The rainbow headband. I want her so badly, I want her to give herself to me. I'll give myself to her if she'd just, well, let me have her. I know I could make her feel good, I know I could. It doesn't matter that I'm blazed out of my mind because I don't think I could ever forget this moment. It's like, I don't know, some higher power is at work here. She's wearing the rainbow headband and I can't fucking believe she's talking to me, looking at me. I need her. "Can I..." I can't even finish the question before I kiss her. I don't want to scare her but I can't help it when more than a year's worth of yearning and thinking about her almost every night and touching myself to the image of her on her knees, on her back, bent over a damn desk for God's sake and that fucking rainbow headband is conveyed through my lips on hers and it's perfect. Everything is perfect. Except the walls are still breathing I think and my head feels like it's made of clouds. Our lips are undulating and I think I might be shaking so violently, it's like an earth quake – there it is – is moving underneath my feet that only I can feel. I wonder if she feels it too.

Can she taste the Beetle Berry Whiskey?

* * *

He looks so good. He's high and I'm tipsy but none of that matters right now because he looks so good and he's looking at me like, well, like he really sees me. I want to throw my leg on the other side of him and straddle his lap when he kisses me, so I do. His hands are huge and when I feel him slide them to my arse and pull me against him I moan. I actually moan out loud. If I sound like Celestina Warbeck that one time she voiced that romance novel The Animagus and the Hunter – which I've never read, I mean, if anyone asks, I've never read it, ever, honestly – for the After Dark session on the Wizarding Wireless Network, he doesn't notice. In fact, he's crushing me to him even harder and Merlin, can this boy snog.

He's asking me if I want to get out of here. Of course I do. I've never wanted anything more in my life. He takes my hand and pulls me from the sofa and we're a little wobbly on our feet but we manage to make it through the crowd. I'm completely ignoring the thumbs up that Luna is sending my way from where she is dancing with Marcus Belby – yikes – and Terry Boot. This is really happening. I wonder if Cho Chang can see us. I hope she can. I'd like to rub this in her face. She makes fun of my headbands. Everyone always looks at my headbands. I think he likes them. I saw him once, looking at me, and he licked his lips. I don't think it had anything to do with the Cockroach Clusters I was gorging on, either. I was wearing the same headband I'm wearing tonight. It's frayed at the ends but I remember how he licked his lips and I can't ever bear to throw it away.

I trip over the rug in the portrait hole and he clutches me close to him before I can hit the floor. I'm so clumsy. These stupid strappy heels were a horrid idea and I'm going to yell at Luna later for making me wear them. When I right myself, I look back up at him – oh, he's gotten so tall, I wonder if he would judge me if I swooned a bit – and he's looking down at me, at my lips, my cheeks, which are blushing so embarrassingly bright, and finally my eyes. He looks disappointed. I don't know what I've done wrong, but he looks disappointed. Even though he's smiling at me, his hooded eyes are sort of sad now. He says something about taking a walk on the grounds. I thought he wanted me, but he just wants a walk? I feel so stupid. I'm so, just, I don't know, I can't help it when I snap that it's way past curfew and Snape has been known to lurk on the grounds sometimes for the single objective to catch unsuspecting students just like us. He smirks at me. He's so infuriating and gorgeous. What an arse. He's dragging me to the kitchens now. I thought he wanted me. I wish he would stop confusing me.


	3. Chapter 3

I feel sort of guilty because I drank the last bit of the Hangover Draught before anyone else could get any. I mean, it wasn't enough to cure me, I'm still hung over, but not as badly as Dean and Neville. Those blokes look like they're dead. I should know, I've seen dead guys once or twice. I won't even get into Cedric because thinking about that whole thing never fails to make me feel like shit. Ron says he didn't drink very much last night because Hermione was with him the entire night after I ditched them – he glared at me pretty heavily when he said that – and every time he picked up a drink she ranted and raved at him until he put it down. She's like a walking, talking Public Information Film. Seamus still hasn't woken up so I'm not quite sure how he's faired but something tells me it's not going to be pretty when he does finally drag himself from his bed.

When I woke up I didn't remember last night straight away, but after the Hangover Draught, while I was brushing my teeth, it all came back to me and I cringed so hard I swallowed a little bit of toothpaste. She was there and she was talking to me – I can't believe she talked to me – and looking at me and when we snogged she was scalding hot on my lap. I could have had her. I was going to have her, take her to an empty classroom – the old Divination room is a favorite, with the pillows and the curtains and the candles and the damn incense it's practically a honeymoon suite – but when she fell as we left the portrait hole I knew. She was drunk. Of course that's the reason she was talking to me, the reason she was looking at me. She reason she let me grope her arse and fuck her mouth with my tongue. In the few seconds it took for her to trip and get her footing back, I had already decided that when I have her, she will be completely sober. I will be completely sober.

I feel pretty good about the resolution, my decision to only take her when we are both in our right minds, but that doesn't mean I don't feel like shit because she was right there, so close, and she wanted me. We were so close. So I decide to go to Hagrid's, kidnap Bear, and smuggle him into the tower so that I can rant to him about how pathetically chivalrous I am. Sometimes I think Bear can actually understand me. He does this little snuffling thing when I say stupid things and when I'm being particularly depressing it's like he's sad too. I don't know if that's a Bear thing or a dog thing, but at the risk of sounding like a little girl, it really helps that I can tell him things because sometimes I get so many thoughts in my mind – about Voldemort, about my parents, about that bloody prophecy, about my relatives, about her – that my head feels like it's going to explode. I mean, I'm not stupid, I know he can't actually understand me or make things better because he's just a dog, but it's nice that he seems to listen. It's been like two years since I found him and he still isn't tired of me, which I think is an accomplishment on my part. I still can't believe Dumbledore let me bring him to school. I guess it pays to be a favorite of the headmaster. Hey, I can admit it. Dumbledore and I are pretty tight with each other. Probably something to do with his guilt about not telling me the prophecy earlier.

The only condition is that he has to live with Hagrid and Fang, so when I go to take him, I have to wait for Hagrid to leave his hut before I stealthily – I think I may have been a ninja in another life, honestly – grab Bear and make a run for it back to the school. It's been raining all morning and Bear makes a show of splashing in every puddle of mud that we pass. When we're running, he barks loudly, his tongue lolling and drool flying from his mouth, and for some reason I feel like a little kid again so I laugh and pump my legs harder. I forget my regret – they say to do the right thing, not the easy thing, but they never said how awful it would make you feel – about not going for it with her last night and we just run. My lungs are burning and I feel good.

I decide to go to the Astronomy tower instead of the common room – everyone always freaks out when they see him because he looks like a Grim, which is eye roll-worthy because he's the silliest, funniest, least-likely-to-be-an-omen-of-death dog ever – and we race each other up the winding steps to the very tiptop of the domed tower. It's deserted, it being a Saturday morning and all. I take off my robes and throw my book bag down. The balcony doors are closed so I open them. I want to hear the rain.

Bear is barking and prancing around but I only have one thing in mind, because I'm still feeling a boatload of dread every time I think about last night and how I blew it, and so I collapse on the marble floor – crisscross applesauce, as they used to say when I went to Muggle school – and rummage in my bag for a lighter and the spliff I prepared specially for this occasion. When I light it up Bear starts whining and his huge paw swipes at my hand. I tell him to stop and he does but I feel kind of bad now because maybe he doesn't like the smoke. But the balcony doors are open so he should be fine, really. He still growls and rolls around a bit, though, when I take a drag.

"I dunno, Bear, I think I fucked up." He is looking at me as if he's trying to say 'Come on, come on, come on.' I pet him and scratch behind his ears. "I kissed her last night." His ears twitch and he barks. "But she was drunk and I wasn't exactly sober either and, God, I don't know, it was everything I ever wanted but I think maybe the only reason she liked it was because she was drunk. I mean, she actually talked to me. She was looking at me and everything." I hate that her face in my mind is marred by a cloud of alcohol and marijuana. "I couldn't go through with it though. I didn't want her to regret anything, so I just took her to the kitchens. I'm such a git." Bear nudges my palm and lays his head on my knee. "I know, I know. It felt like the right thing to do at the time, but it hurts, like, almost physically now. What if she never talks to me again? Or looks at me."

I'm thinking a lot about the way she felt on my lap. And it was sexy and everything and I'm amazingly turned on by just the memory of it, but it was more than that. I felt like we were, I don't know, I don't want to say connected – because I'm not a lovesick, preteen girl – but, like, we connected. On a different level. Or maybe it was the questionable pot that Hannah Abbot sold to me and Neville. Either way I think our souls might have meshed and now I just can't stop thinking about what it would be like to connect with her like that when I'm inside of her. I want her and I want to make her feel good. I want to look in her eyes when she comes. I think it would be a defining moment in my life. Or something. We could be like a supernova; explosive, totally consuming, completely fucking stellar.

Now, if I can just get her to talk to me – look at me – again.

* * *

There is a roiling in my stomach and I have a headache the size of England, but I'm obsessing over what happened with him. Bloody Merlin, I threw myself at him. No wonder he didn't want to have sex with me. He must think I'm so sloppy. I was sort of in a tizzy when we ended up going to the kitchens, but he was so funny and sweet I couldn't stay angry with him. He even held my hand before we separated in the common room. By that time, everyone was either asleep, passed out, or in their own dorms. It's just, I mean, I wore the dress and the stupid strappy heels and I even painted my nails blue because I know it's his favorite color, and he didn't even kiss me goodnight. He gave me a peck on the cheek. I want him to stop scrambling my brain, giving me mixed signals.

When I woke up I pushed Luna, who stayed over last night, off of my bed and made sure she was awake. That girl sure can party. Luna is my best friend because she's so damn fearless. She reminds me of him in that regard. She doesn't mind when people stare at her radish earrings or her ugly bottle cap necklace. I cried the first time Cho made fun of my headband, and I cried the second time as well. The third and each subsequent time I ignored her. Luna never cries when Cho points at her and whispers behind her hand into Marietta Edgecombe's ear. She's funny, and yeah, she's pretty odd, but if they knew what she witnessed when her mum got killed, they wouldn't make fun of her so much for that. Luna's like a rainbow, and she wears a lot of sheer dresses and flowers and blue heart-shaped clips in her hair, and she likes to make love. The summer before I turned fifteen she kissed me, and it was nice, but I only wanted to be friends with her. So we are friends, best friends.

She teases me because I don't know how to deal with him, how to flirt with him, how to get him to snog me, touch me, fuck me. What does she know anyway? When I asked her how to get his attention she told me to wear her strappy green heels, and that was a bloody disaster. Anyway, I don't want to trick him into anything. I don't want him to have sex with me because the shoes I have on make my legs look longer than they really are, or the bra I'm wearing happens to be a pushup and makes my breasts look like they defy gravity. I want him to want me because I'm myself. I want to talk to him again. I had so much fun talking to him. I didn't know that he likes the Beastie Boys and the Rolling Stones and Yeats. I didn't know that he liked Muggle movies – but I guess I should have, he was raised as a Muggle after all – but he said he would take me to this cinema in London that plays old movies. He said I needed to see The Godfather, whatever that means.

After I showered and brushed my teeth and pulled a headband on – purple – I look out the window, tiptoeing because all of my other dorm-mates are still asleep – Luna too, even though I woke her up – and found that it is raining. So I pull on my second ugliest jumper – it's gray and there's a hole at the bottom, but it's so warm and soft – and these really tight denims. They're my favorite because there is a yellow patch on the knee that my mum sewed on this past summer. I need to finish my Ancient Runes essay, so I think I'll go to the Astronomy Tower. It's usually pretty abandoned on Saturdays and I could do with a little peace and quiet to – not to obsess over every little detail of last night, of course not – finish my homework. I grab my satchel and when I leave I slam the door extra hard and relish in the disgruntled shouts of my now awake roommates.


	4. Chapter 4

I have to hide the spliff when I hear someone coming up the steps. There's nowhere to put it so I grudgingly fling it off of the balcony. Bear is tense – he isn't very good with people other than me or Hermione, Ron, and Neville – and hunched rigidly in front of me, ready to protect me. He's a good dog. I always hated dogs before Bear found me at Privet Drive because of Marge's disgusting little monster Ripper. Chasing me up trees and biting me in the arse. Bear is nothing like that little bastard.

When I see the ginger-red hair pulled back by a headband I have a mini panic attack. Did she know I'd be here? And oh God it's like every time I see her my heart does the stupidest thing and skips a beat or two and I feel like I might be dying but I kind of like it at the same time. She's climbing the last few steps and I try to look cool and casual but Bear snorts and I realize I might look the opposite of cool. She sees me. And she's looking at me again, her eyes so brown and she seems confused that I'm here so I guess she didn't come looking for me. Well. Doesn't matter, she found me.

I'm spluttering and it's embarrassing. As speechless as I was when I was high last night, I'm even worse today. I feel like an idiot. But she's smiling. That's great, that's so wonderful, that's, man, that's just perfect. I know she might be laughing at me but at least she's laughing. Her smile is like everything nice that's ever happened to me formed in two pink lips and two rows of pearly white teeth. I think she's out of my league. I think I don't care. My head still hurts because that Hangover Draught was the shittiest and weakest Hangover Draught ever – I'm awful at Potions, bloody Snape – but I feel a little better now that she's smiling at me.

I finally manage to get something out – "Hey." – and she's blushing. It really stokes my ego when anything I do or say has her blushing like that. She replies with a soft "Hi," and she's acting pretty shy. She wasn't so shy last night – grinding against me, so warm and making those beautiful noises – but she was drunk, so. I don't know. She's driving me mad. I never felt this way about a girl. Cho was fit, but I claim temporary insanity when I stayed with her after that disastrous Madam Puddifoot's excursion last year. She treated me like her slave, and because I thought I cared about her, I went along with it. We didn't last very long. We're still friends, sort of, but she's mean, like Lavender. I don't like the way she treats people. But Cho still wants me, wants to be my girlfriend or maybe fuck me one last time, I don't know. That's not happening. And what I had with Daphne was purely, well, physical. I can't stand her personality. She's a fucking ice queen but the shagging was out of this world. And I don't really count Angelina Johnson when I was a fourth year because, even though she took my virginity, it was only the one time and it was because she pitied me. I didn't know that, though. Now I cringe every time I see her with Fred Weasley at the Burrow. Even when I was with Cho, with Daphne – but not with Angelina because I wasn't thinking about much during the seven minutes we spent together – I thought about how it would be if it was with her.

"I d-didn't know anyone else was h-here." I'm wondering when she acquired that little stutter. I didn't notice it last night. It's been more than a year – before last night, at least – since she's spoken directly to me, but when she talks to her brother or Hermione she doesn't have a stutter. She seems kind of scared. I hope she isn't scared of me. Although that stutter is really sweet. Hm. I wonder. "Do I make you nervous, Weasley?" I want to tease her. See what she does, how she reacts. Her blush glows with a vengeance and Bear snorts beside me. She's glaring at me now and I'm trying not to laugh because when she's looking at me like that it's like she's a kitten and I've just taken away her favorite toy. Oh. Now there's an idea.

She kneels down and hugs Bear. "It's b-been a while since I last saw him. He looks healthier." My chest feels light when Bear takes to her immediately and excitedly licks her face. She's giggling and trying to escape his relentless, slobbering tongue. I kneel down too and pull him back because he's just about as tall as her waist when she's standing and I worry that he might get too excited and accidentally maul her. That would certainly ruin the fragile mood. "Yeah. He was pretty sick when I found him. I didn't know if you remembered that." She shrugs but doesn't reply. I want her to talk more so I take her hand and thread my fingers with hers. She turns her doe eyes on me and oh, this moment; it's like I've been going through life in a fog until right now. The colors of this moment – her red hair, the yellow-green patch on her denims, that purple headband, the white and gray marble floor – are so vivid. If I saw the world like this every day I wouldn't ever have to get high.

Bear barks, his tail wagging out of control, and she wrinkles her nose and laughs. I'm happy that she likes Bear. Daphne hated him with a passion. She even hated Hedwig. What kind of person just hates animals like that? "D'you want to..." She's nodding before I can finish. "I h-have a Runes e-essay, though."

I lick my lips and take a deep breath and plunge right in. "Well, I'm rubbish at Runes. But I want to be with you." Her eyes go wide and I laugh. God, I'm screwing this up. I teased her because I make her nervous but the truth is she scares the hell out of me. In the best way possible. "I mean, uh. I want to spend time with you."

When she tells me that she wants to spend time with me too, I feel like the sacks of my lungs – packed tight with Radiohead lyrics, bad poetry written under a blanket with a torch as the only source of light in the dead of night, and leftover tobacco residue because for four months after I turned fifteen I thought I would pick up smoking cigarettes to better convey my bitter resentment of the world and its strange habit of buggering me at every turn – are suddenly clear and I can breathe again. She wants to spend time with me, yeah.

* * *

Wow, he wasn't lying when he said he was rubbish at Runes. I think it's nice, though. It's like, after the ministry witnessed You-Know-Who's break-in at the Department of Mysteries last year and the press was forced to admit that he hadn't been lying or seeking attention, everyone has treated him as if he can do no wrong. Which, I mean, I understand that they feel guilty for all of the name-calling and the muckraking and the personal attacks, but he's not perfect. And I can tell that he hates it when people treat him as if he is. It's nice to know that he sucks at something just like the rest of us, even if he is apparently the Chosen One. Or whatever they're saying about him in the Daily Prophet nowadays.

"Hey. I wanted to, you know, apologize to you." He's looking at me very seriously now. It's better when he's laughing and joking around, even if there is a certain falseness to it. I think he wears a different face for people. It's like he doesn't trust anyone to see how he really feels about things and I can relate to that. "F-for what?" I can't look at him. I'm afraid of what he might say. But when he ducks his head – a goofy grin playing at his lips – to catch my eyes, I can't help but grin back. He's always making me smile. The damn git. "Last night. I kissed you and I shouldn't have." Oh no. I think I'm going to be sick. "You were drunk and I shouldn't have taken advantage of you." What? "W-what?"

Now he's the one avoiding my eyes. "You were drunk. I took advantage of you?" I can't help it. I start laughing. Even when he looks at me all wounded and indignant, I still laugh. I might have even snorted. "I-I'm sorry, but I-I wasn't really very drunk." He's so cute. "I h-had a little bit of Finch-Fletchley's Daisyroot Draught. But I knew what I was doing." He's blushing now. Maybe Hermione was right when she said he was shy. "Really?" He looks so hopeful it's breaking my heart a little and so I decide to put him out of his misery. I don't think I'm wrong about his feelings, but it's still a scary thing to do. Admitting how I feel about him. I gather every bit of courage I can scrounge up and look him straight in the eyes. "I like you. A lot." I'm so happy I managed not to stutter.

And when his eyes go wide and he ducks his head to hide his grin I'm so relieved. He says he likes me a lot too and I feel, well, fluttery. Yeah, fluttery. Butterflies and all that jazz. I nod and laugh a little bit before returning to my Runes essay. He sits with me and pets Bear, who lies between us. We are silent and it's, you know, nice. It's still raining and I'm a little bit cold but he puts his hand on my knee and suddenly I'm not so cold anymore. We should have done this a long time ago.

I can't wait to snog him again.

* * *

_A/N_

_marcif _Thank you so much! Your review made me all warm and fuzzy.

_Taichi-Doragon Tentei_ I'm so glad it's caught your attention. Thank you so much for the review, it made my day.


	5. Chapter 5

I didn't see her all of Sunday – I was serving detention with bloody Snape the entire day – so she was all I could think about, naturally. Even now as Professor Lupin – rehired by Dumbledore as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in lieu of another so-called "teacher" who would most likely try to kill me – lectures about, well, I don't really know, but he's lecturing and I can only think about the day we spent together. Walking Bear together on the edges of the courtyard so we wouldn't be disturbed. Pretending not to notice her hungry eyes watching me as we talked about my favorite artists and her favorite writers. My throat uncomfortably parched as I thought about tasting her, drinking her in, touching her and other obscene things I would never have the courage to speak about out loud. I am content to simply think about it right now, even though it dominates all other thought when I do.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle so I raise my head and look around. Some students are laughing and looking at me and Hermione is staring pretty intently with that little wrinkle between her eyes that normally indicates she's worried – usually about me – and Ron is sniggering behind his hand beside me. When I look up at Lupin, he's frowning at me. "Eh?" He huffs and shakes his head. I guess it was the wrong thing to say. "Please stay after class, Mr. Potter." Oh, bloody lovely. He turns to address another student who is answering the question I was probably supposed to be answering. Hermione is still looking at me, and I'm just so annoyed I accidentally give her a look – like one of the looks that say "Can I fucking help you?" – and she gives me a wounded expression. Now I feel bad and Ron's glaring – well, it's not like he's never accidentally hurt Hermione's feelings – at me. Bloody Lupin. This is all his fault.

The timer on Lupin's desk begins to chirp and in a loud cacophony of chairs scraping the ground and desks bumping each other everyone is out of the classroom except for me. Not even Ron and Hermione wait for me, which is probably because I'm an arsehole. Whatever.

They're gone and Lupin's looking at me like he's expecting me to say something which is stupid because he's the one who held me back so he should be the first to talk. But no, he's just staring. And staring. I refuse to speak first even though there are a multitude of words threatening to bubble from the pit of my stomach, into my throat, and out of my mouth. Stupid teenager things like "You don't know me," and "Why can't you just leave me alone," are spinning in my mouth but I grit my teeth so they don't escape. My hands tighten to fists in my pockets because it's all I can do to not slam my hands on the table and I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react.

"You have got to start listening in class, Harry." Finally. I don't reply, though. "It's incredibly important that you learn these things." I can't help it when I roll my eyes and scoff. He sounds almost exactly like Hermione it's almost painful. His head twitches and I think he's exasperated or annoyed or something. "You haven't returned a single essay or parchment of homework I've assigned this term. Is there a specific reason?" I shrug because this conversation is bringing up a lot of things I don't want to think about, don't want to dwell on, so I wish he would stop and let me go. I want to see her in the corridor before our next classes. He stands and I don't know why but my heart picks up like I'm panicking and he's standing beside my desk and he's kneeling but I can't look at him. I won't look at him. I duck my head and my hair flops down – I should cut it, but then what would hide my scar? – forming a curtain. "Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything at all?" My nerves are screaming to lash out and, yes, yes, there is something. A prophecy and so many thoughts in my head they feel like pins and needles poking me in the brain and a pressure so tight in my chest I can't breathe. But I don't say any of that because what would be the point? "No, Sir. Can I go now, Sir?"

He's looking at me again, frowning skeptically. He sighs and shakes his head. "Yes. You can go. Let me write a note for you." When he's finished writing the note I take it and quickly pack my things. I almost make it out of the door before he speaks again. "Oh and Harry? Please report to me at seven sharp tonight for detention. And I'll be speaking to Professor McGonagall about this." I pause in the doorway. God, it takes all of my strength to not turn around and let loose on him. Doesn't he know I'm doing the best I can? He's in the Order, doesn't he understand? Why is he riding me so bloody hard this year?

I bang the door violently when I leave and I'm walking, walking, walking, I don't know where, just walking. I need to get out of here fast. Everyone is in class now and I don't want to bother with any of it – walking in late, McGonagall glaring at me, demanding to know where I've been, bringing the entire class's attention on me, Hermione glowering at me, trying to pay attention to a lesson that doesn't interest me in the least – so I don't. Bother with it. I just keep walking, walking. And I find myself in Greenhouse Four, abandoned and smelling of rosemary and sage and so humid, and I collapse in a corner and tuck myself under the table on the floor with two beetles, a snail, and a caterpillar. I take out my copy of Hamlet that I took from Dumbledore's office – which I'm pretty sure he knows I stole if his amused smile after I pocketed it when his back was turned is any indication – and read the same words I have not been able to stop reading.

'To die, to sleep.'

Why couldn't Lupin just leave me alone? I have an entire galaxy of awful ideas right now because he just couldn't leave me alone. I could go and destroy his office. I could spell every painting in the entire castle to whisper to each other every time he passes. I could lace his shampoo with a multitude of potions that make his hair fall out and boils to grow in strange places.

'To sleep, perchance to dream.'

Fuck. My mind is racing and I'm so, so angry that he's made me think of this shit. I don't want to think about it. I don't, I don't. I just want to be a normal teenager. I want, I want. I'm needy, I guess. I don't know when I started to be so desperate for normalcy. Well, as normal as a wizard's life could possibly be, anyway.

'Ay, there's the rub.'

When I was younger, I wanted to be anyone other than Just Harry. Just Harry was weak, afraid of his uncle, sad that his aunt never wanted to hug him, used to injuries doled out by his cousin. When Just Harry found out he was something other, a wizard, actually important, a somebody, he was thrilled. Scared out of his mind, but thrilled all the same. But it all started going very down hill very fast. And now I want more than anything to be Just Harry. I want to care about schoolwork again rather than ignore it because I know, deep down, I won't survive long enough for it to be of any serious use to me. I want to have fun just being myself rather than feeling I need to get high or pissed because I'm so detached from everything, from everyone. I want to be with her without worrying if I'm going to be alive long enough to get up the courage to tell her how much she means to me. I want, I want. But it's not for me. So I will continue to shirk my homework. I won't stop using anything that makes me feel like I'm not stuck inside myself. And as for her, well, as for her – I'll just have to work on getting in touch with my inner Gryffindor.

'For in this sleep of death what dreams may come.'

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A/N

_No Ginny point of view for chapter five because I am finding it increasingly difficult to channel her. She will return for chapter six, though. Also, I realize this was a little angst-ridden, but I just want to establish what my version of Harry is going through. I don't classify him as a "pothead" or a "stoner" because he's not really. He just does those things because he's a little hopeless at this juncture in his life. I'm not saying that someone who partakes in the recreational use of marijuana or alcohol must be sad to do so, I'm just saying that's why my version of Harry does so. It is but a symptom of a more encompassing issue.  
_

_Right now everything is kind of teen soap opera-y, but soon there will be action and adventure and magic and everything we love about Harry Potter!_

_Thanks so much for the reviews and follows. They are luminous spheres of plasma in my otherwise dark gravitationally bound system. You guys put stars in my galaxy._


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